


Crossroads of Fate

by yumecosmos



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Alcohol, Also plenty of evil Ganondorf, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Animal Death, Canon Compliant, Demonic Possession, Enemies Forced To Work Together, Enemies to Friends, F/F, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Friends to Lovers, Good Ganondorf, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Lots of OCs - Freeform, Not Really Character Death, Origin Story, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Post-Majora's Mask, Post-Ocarina of Time, Pregnancy, Redemption, Romance, Social Commentary, Some OCs are really unnamed minor canon characters, Timey-Wimey, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-06-21 05:00:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15550140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumecosmos/pseuds/yumecosmos
Summary: Call it a divine prank. The Hero of Time returns to Hyrule to find old friends against him, Zelda in hiding, and Ganondorf scheming with a mysterious wizard who knows more than he should. Intrigue is brewing in the Hylian court, bringing grudges and buried truths to light. Meanwhile, Gerudo agents target a family heirloom belonging to Zelda's friend and Twinrova whisper about something called the Fused Shadow. Where the paths of fate cross, a new future is born.A redemption story.(Ratings/warnings err on the side of caution.)





	1. And so we end before we begin

**Author's Note:**

> Critique is welcomed and loved! No need to spare my feelings; I want to get better.
> 
> Most chapters will be G/PG rated. I've opted to warn for anything that's even mentioned. Please don't be shy about speaking up if you feel something is problematic, or if there's certain content you'd like tagged.
> 
> This will, in fact, attempt to be canon compliant, although there will be plenty of alternate universe and time travel shenanigans. There's a timeline behind everything, if you're into that sort of thing, but I aim to make the story enjoyable without having to understand it. And buckle up, folks, this is going to be a loooong ride. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence, blood, character death.

All three of them knew there was nothing left worth fighting for.

A dry wind hissed through the once-green grass of Eldin plain, carrying the stench of gangrene and sulfur. The sun’s last rays rippled across the foul pools that had collected where hooves and soldiers’ boots had churned the ground into a crimson muck, a glimmer of disturbing beauty amid the charnel. Not one nation had been spared. Gorons and Zora, even Yeti and Mogma, risen as one in this desperate hour only to be cut down together. Hylians, Gerudo and Sheikah, who had fought the most bitterly among themselves, whose bones would be indistinguishable when the carrion birds were through with them. On the southern horizon, smoke billowed up from the jagged ruin of the castle to meet the bloated miasma swirling above, clouds that held no promise of rain. No matter. There was not enough rain in all the heavens to wash this land clean.

No matter who won today, Hyrule was lost. Nonetheless, they would go through the motions, one for the sake of his own pride and the other two on principle. Perhaps, Zelda thought in a moment of bitterness, staring down the demon king on the opposite ridge, there was really no difference after all. Was it not her actions, her _scheming_ , that had brought this upon them? In her arrogance she had believed they could control the power of the gods.

In front of her, she felt Link shift in the saddle. Tension rippled through his shoulders as he grasped the hilt of the Master Sword. Ganondorf’s horse reared. Another gust of putrid wind billowed through his cape—red laced with gold, blood-stained earth and dying sunlight—and his cruel laughter echoed across the battlefield.

The holy blade flashed out of its scabbard. Zelda readied a light arrow. She made a silent promise as they plunged headlong into the valley. Link would not die for her today. If one of them had a chance to live, it should be him.

Zelda had seen too many good people die in these past years. The Nohansens, the Gustavians, every other noble house who had sworn loyalty to her family. Eight different commanders of the Knights of Hyrule, the last a boy younger than her, whose only qualification was that he was brave enough. The fellow who ran the fishing pond at Lake Hylia, where she had loved to visit in the summer when she was young. That guard from Kakariko who was obsessed with Keaton, and the woman who raised hypoallergenic cuccos. The local postman, who one afternoon staggered, bleeding, into the throne room with dire news from the west—Ganondorf had purged the ranks, put his own second-in-command to the sword, and no Gerudo remained who would dare oppose their king’s ambition. Noble Darunia, her father’s sworn brother. King Zora and his spirited daughter Ruto. Zelda’s beloved attendant Impa, the closest thing to a mother she had known. Her father, Hyrule’s last king.

And Malon, the rancher who had given them the horse on whose back they were now hurtling toward their fate. She had been little more than a stranger to Zelda, though she and her father were frequently at the castle peddling milk and eggs—one of the familiar faces who passed just outside her tightly-constricted social orbit. But when she and Link came pounding on the ranch door in the dead of night after a desperate flight from fallen Hyrule Castle, Malon had embraced her like a sister. Zelda had a foggy memory of sitting, white-faced and shivering, in front of Lon Lon’s hearth. Malon pushing a mug of something warm into her hand, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, giving her the precious gifts of companionship and silence. Then the next morning, offering them all the supplies they needed, bowing and saying it was her honor to serve the queen. She must have known what she was risking by aiding them. The last time they saw her, she was sitting on top of the dovecote framed by the morning sun, hanging the blue and green banner that declared her loyalty.

Ganondorf had noticed.

Link wept openly when they found her, the first time Zelda had seen him shed tears. Until that moment he had seemed to her a stoic pillar of strength, and she had relied on him without a second thought. It shook her profoundly to see his pain, his weakness, his _humanity_ laid bare. Only then had she recognized her own cruelty.

He was innocent when she met him, halfway to adulthood, wide-eyed at the sights and sounds of the big city, and dazzled to meet a beautiful princess who said she had seen him in her dreams. He was the only one who had believed her. And she’d repaid him by drawing him into her war. Even now he never showed the least sign of resentment, though she had offered him nothing and cost him everything. Even now the selfless hero remained, though the boy was long gone.

A month or so after Lon Lon, as they sifted through the charred ruins of Kokiri Village, he had not wept. Since that day he wore courage like a mask, and the sword seemed to wield him rather than the other way round. It occurred to her that even if Link survived, the life that remained for him was one of endless isolated wandering, searching the wasteland for survivors. Too many good people. Dead, because of her.

What would she give for some way to turn back time?

Ganondorf brandished his greatsword in one hand, eight spans of ornately carved black steel as grandiose as the man himself, and Zelda banished her guilt. There would be time enough for that when the battle was over. Maybe in whatever afterlife was waiting for her.

She wished, not for the first time, that she had spent more of the previous decade training for combat. She hated the way time seemed to compress, forcing her to simply react, make decisions without thinking. Ganondorf was a hundred yards away; she blinked and he was right in front of them. Sword met sword with a jolt that rattled her teeth. Link parried with expert form, but the raw power behind the blow was enough to knock him off balance all the same. Zelda lunged and caught his hand before he completely fell out of the saddle. He slung his other arm over Epona’s neck and heaved himself back up.

In those few seconds, the warlock brought his steed around and charged at them from behind. He was on them before Zelda could draw, and she cried out involuntarily as the blade came slashing down at her. She would have been dead if Epona were not so perfectly in tune with her rider, but a slight twist of Link’s knees steered them out of the way at the last second. The mare needed very little encouragement to put some distance between them. On level ground she was not quite as fast as Ganondorf’s mount, but here, where they could duck and weave between the hills, her nimbleness gave them an advantage.

Violet shadows cloaked the moonless sky. They crested another hill, splashed through a shallow pond, and descended into a narrow ravine. Ganondorf closed in on them again, galloping at full speed through the treacherous terrain. Zelda braced herself and took aim, but the golden glare of her magic weapon blinded her still-adjusting eyes. Hoofbeats thundered off the rocky walls; her own heartbeat pounded in her ears. When she finally took the shot, they had to turn sharply to skirt a boulder, causing it to fly wide.

They burst out of the canyon, into an open field overlooking the Zora River Gorge. About half a mile ahead, the ground dropped away in a sheer cliff. Gritting his teeth, Link urged Epona on, heading for a slight overhang where the gorge narrowed just enough that some brave fool might think his horse could make the jump.

But not fully equipped for battle and carrying two riders. Surely he wasn’t going to try?

Nonetheless, she would trust him. She turned to look back and nocked another arrow. Ganondorf summoned a fistful of compressed lightning, with the other hand he raised his sword to strike again. One bolt struck the ground beside them, kicking up a shower of dirt and rocks. Another hissed past her head, ozone and prickling heat. Abruptly Link tilted his head, eyeing the Master Sword almost as if he’d heard it speak to him. Ganondorf unleashed another thunderbolt aimed straight for them, but to her astonishment, Link batted it aside. She recalled then how the Sheikah used to whisper about the power of the holy blade to deflect any spell cast in malice.

The cliff’s edge rushed toward them at alarming speed. At the last second, Link brought Epona skidding to a halt and pivoted, giving Zelda a clear shot. The bowstring sang, the arrow struck true. Ganondorf roared in pain and anger, lolling to one side in his saddle as the enchanted light sent his body into uncontrollable spasms. Spurring Epona forward once more, Link swooped in and knocked him to the ground with one clean blow. His horse bolted into the hills.

They were not foolish enough to think he was defeated.

Link swung down from the saddle, signaling for her to stay on the horse. It made sense to her, from a tactical standpoint—it would give her a higher vantage point and allow for a quick escape if need be. But with every step he took away from her, she felt less safe.

Too late she sensed the subtle shift in the wind, the tremor in the earth, the hum in the aether that warned of an immense influx of magical power. A low growl rose in the demon king’s throat. He lurched to his feet, clutching a writhing ball of darkness. The wind rose to a howling gale; the inky mass twisted around itself with a sound like bones breaking. Bellowing in fury, Ganondorf thrust his hands at them, and the darkness surged forward in a beam. Link threw himself in front of her, shield raised in a desperate attempt at defense, but it was no use.

Teeth-clenching agony wracked her body, but the pain was more than just physical torment. It was sorrow, despair, self-loathing and shame, the essence of her enemy’s hatred pressing in on her from all sides. Gravity lost all meaning. She tumbled into the dirt, Epona’s heart-wrenching scream ringing in her ears. Through the haze of pain and shock, she heard Link shouting her name. Then the horse’s bulk came crashing down on her, and she knew no more.

* * *

For a few seconds, Link stood frozen in mute horror at the sight of Epona’s broken body and Zelda pinned under her. The beam had merely grazed him, enough to knock him out of the way while they took the full brunt of the attack. Some protector he was. Why had he not told them to flee to safety? Logic told him there was no safety to be found anymore, but that did little to ease the guilt.

Malon would have been heartbroken. Even now he had failed her again, just as he had failed all his friends so many times.

The crackle of electricity forced him to look up. Ganondorf stood two long strides away, leering down at him through a swirling orb of lightning, which he proceeded to hurl at Link’s face. Link knocked it back at him with a slash that was mostly reflex. Battle instincts took over. He lunged in the direction Ganondorf would have to move to avoid his own magic. His left arm tingled, the sword whispering a warning. With a backhand swipe, Ganondorf turned the spell on him again. He rolled to the side, leaving the lightning to dissipate harmlessly on the ground, came up behind and struck at the back of his knee. Ganondorf hissed in pain and stumbled. Link spared the Master Sword a grim smile, never quite taking his eyes off his foe.

It spoke to him at times, though not in words. It was more of a series of impressions—the best way he could describe it was the sort of feeling a skilled dancer might awaken in her audience. From the moment he saw the sword, on the day Zelda led him to the ancient pedestal hidden in the woods near Castle Town, he had sensed its call, though the princess had warned him not to touch it. It was a sacred weapon, forged by the gods themselves to ward off evils only they could contemplate.

Zelda had brought him to the sacred grove because it was a nice spot for a picnic.

At the time, the evil they were facing had seemed like a worldly variety. Ganondorf was a bad man, to be sure, but they would gather evidence against him and convict him in a court of law. That was how justice worked, Zelda had said, and he always believed her.

Three years ago, when Ganondorf dropped his amicable ruse and kidnapped Zelda, he had ignored that warning. The desert king was no longer a mere troublemaker, he was a threat to all of Hyrule. Surely the gods would take notice of that? Though if Link were honest with himself, he would admit it had more to do with the threat to the woman who had made him feel, for the first time, like his life had a purpose. Like he was somebody. A hero.

If he were honest with himself, he still had no idea what that word meant.

Blood seeped into the linen wrappings on Ganondorf’s leg—printed with interlocking red and blue lines, a symbol of Gerudo pride and unity, although hundreds of his sisters had died resisting his tyranny. Snarling, he leveled his gigantic blade at Link. They circled each other, Link’s light-footed shuffle a counterpoint to Ganondorf’s heavy, measured stride. Link couldn’t see Zelda anymore. He tried not to wonder if she was still alive. He thought he saw an opening and risked striking first. But Ganondorf was quicker than he seemed. He deflected the jab and kicked Link in the shoulder. Link turned the momentum into a backflip and steadied himself, grimacing. He thought his collarbone might be fractured. At least it wasn’t his sword arm. Ganondorf lunged, swinging with enough force to cut him in half. This was a mistake—Link sprang out of the way, and the blade buried itself several inches into the dirt. In the half second Ganondorf spent trying to wrench it free, he unleashed his signature maneuver, a whirling slash augmented by a storm of fairy fire. Ganondorf staggered back and lost his grip on the massive sword. Before he could recover, Link grabbed it and flung it off the cliff.

Ganondorf was unperturbed. With casual languor, he unfastened his cape and tossed it aside. The crest blazed on the back of his hand, casting a soft yellow glow over his jet-black armor. That was Link’s fault too. He hadn’t expected to be transported to another world after he drew the sword. When he found the mythic golden triangles shining at the heart of that realm, he had treated them as another item for his arsenal. One more tool to defeat the darkness. But the Triforce, that ancient relic of the creator goddesses that ironically had been Ganondorf’s true aim all along, had shattered in his hands. Back then he hadn’t understood how it worked. Courage had been enough for him to rally the Hylian army and rescue Zelda. Afterwards, startled by the crest of Wisdom on her own hand, the princess had done some research and learned a bit of ancient lore about the Triforce: unless the heart of the one who touched it was in perfect balance, they could only claim one of the three forces. The others would be given to those chosen by the gods. They were left to wonder where Power had gone. When the Hylians took Ganondorf to Arbiter’s Grounds, to face justice of a final and rather grisly sort, they found out.

Zelda no longer believed courts and laws would save them from evil.

Now he could see that Ganondorf had been carrying another sword beneath the cape, a sliver of sharpened moonlight with a fluted hilt. The one they had tried to use at his execution. In spite of everything, Link had to admit it was a rather poetic touch.

It was also much lighter than his first weapon. Ganondorf went on the attack again, with fluid agility that belied his hulking stature, and Link realized with a sinking feeling that his opponent had not been taking him seriously until now. The sword was a luminous blur. He found himself retreating. Ganondorf overreached slightly; he ducked under his arm and tried to counter. Not fast enough. Their blades locked together. For a few long moments, the air was sharp and still, blood and sweat and the hiss of grinding metal. Link pushed back with all the strength he could muster, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, but Ganondorf shoved him off balance, knocked his shield out of his hand, and slammed the heel of his palm into his chest. Link went down hard. His head struck the ground, and for a moment his vision went dark. Blinking and gasping, he tried to sit up, but Ganondorf planted a foot on his torso.

Suddenly death was staring down at him, and courage was only a word. There was a difference, after all, between not having much left to live for and being ready to die. Ganondorf raised the sword to plunge it into his heart.

At the last second there was a twang and a soft crunch. Ganondorf stopped short, eyes white-rimmed in shock. Gingerly, he reached up to touch the tip of the glowing arrow protruding from his forehead. He dropped to his knees, then fell face-down. The figure behind him lowered her bow with solemn satisfaction.

Zelda.

Vigor flowed back into him. The pain of his wounds seemed to melt away, and he leaped to his feet. She smiled at him, unsteadily at first, warmer and stronger as he ran toward her. She was alive. There was still hope in the world. At least he had not failed in this.

Her fingertips barely brushed his, when a surge of dark energy knocked him back. His mouth fell open in disbelief. Ganondorf stood, grinning like a maniac, and snapped off the arrow shaft. His shadow fell over the princess as he turned, gripped her by the shoulder with a strange sort of gentleness. Link threw himself forward headlong, determined to put his sword, his body, anything between Zelda and the demon king, but the ground was sinking sand and he was running underwater, _too slow too far too late_ —

Ganondorf jabbed the arrowhead into Zelda’s abdomen. A high-pitched cry escaped her lips as she doubled over, clutching at the wound. He grabbed her by the throat, lifted her off the ground, and twisted. There was a sickening crack. Zelda went limp.

And hope died with her.

* * *

Ganondorf had expected to feel _something_ when he snapped her neck.

The act itself was vaguely satisfying, the hero’s anguished scream as he let her body drop to the ground more so. And yet, it was a fine wine poured out on hot coals. He made himself laugh, for Link’s benefit.

It provoked the intended response. The youth lunged at him, a mad flurry of deadly steel, his usual tempered battle cries replaced by rough shouts and curses. But as quick and powerful as his strikes were, they were all predictable. Ganondorf was almost bored as he parried and sidestepped. Grief always made people sloppy. A weakness of less disciplined minds.

Link was quite fast, though. Ganondorf had to give up quite a bit of ground waiting for him to tire. No matter. Soon he would be done with his childish fit, and then he would put him out of his misery. All in all, a disappointing showing for the one who had touched the golden power. It was frustrating at times, being so far above others. Nothing excited him anymore.

His head throbbed, and he recalled that there was still half an arrow inside his skull. Power didn’t heal his wounds so much as let him choose not to be affected by them. Fear was a choice. Mortality was a choice. Pain was… a triviality he could choose to ignore. He didn’t need the Triforce for that. The harsh winds of war had long since stripped him of such self-indulgent frailty. He was the desert now, relentless shifting sands; he would not be quenched by their petty tears, he would swallow whole civilizations and leave no trace.

Against all odds, Link found a way around his defenses, driving the point of the sword through his armor and nicking his side. He was reckless, though, and Ganondorf made him pay for it with a deep cut down his leg. Link tried that duck-and-roll maneuver again, but he was ready and forced him back with a flourish of the pretty little sword.

He hated the thing, and the pompous sycophants who made it. The way they peered down their noses and whispered behind their hands, or cowered and gnashed their teeth and called him a demon, as if they were not the ones who brought their wars to his homeland and made his people pay the price, hoarded wealth and prosperity while they starved and burned in the sun, then invented false histories to justify it all. As if they were not a nation of lying, thieving, murdering, raping scum. They prated of divine deliverance while they chained him to a rock like an animal and ran him through. But the so-called holy weapon, like its makers, was too weak to finish the job. He had pulled it from his own body, and now it would serve his purposes. If the Hylians wanted a demon, he would give them one, and he would make them kneel in worship.

That brief fantasy distracted him so that he fell for Link’s feint. The Master Sword bit into his shoulder, burning and slick, and he realized, belatedly, that neither that wound nor the one in his side would stop bleeding, no matter how much he willed then to. Interesting. Perhaps some of the tales were true.

Link was slowing down now, and clearly favoring his right leg. But as his frenzied rage subsided, a deadly determination took its place. Perhaps, Ganondorf thought with something almost like pride, he had taught his young enemy a lesson today. Now at last he understood what it was to be empty. _Can you stand, boy,_ he thought, _without all those quaint notions of honor and destiny to prop you up?_

He took another swing at Link, who tried to dodge, only to topple over backwards. He had tripped over Zelda’s corpse. Ganondorf threw back his head and laughed at the look on his face when he realized it.

He was still laughing as Link gently smoothed Zelda’s hair, then levered himself to his feet, gripping his sword in a trembling fist. A bestial growl rose in his throat, and a crimson aura flared around the blade. Then he charged, faster than he’d ever moved before. By the time Ganondorf moved to defend himself, he was caught in a hurricane of burning steel. Fire blinded him, pain forced its way in from every direction. Link vaulted into the air with sudden, impossible grace and came down on him like a falling star, glory and vengeance and despair.

Ganondorf screamed when the sword pierced his ribcage.

Link jerked the blade out of him, and he collapsed. He felt the prickling grass under his back, the warm rush of his own blood spilling over his stomach, the cold trickle of sweat down his temple, all dwarfed by bitter agony that would no longer be denied.

Link had fallen silent. Surely he must have some righteous soliloquy. Some parting taunt. Ganondorf almost wished he hadn’t killed Zelda. She would have had something elegant to say. He forced his eyes open, tried to give Link one last defiant glare, but he wasn’t looking. He seemed more dazed and exhausted than triumphant. Blood and dirt matted his hair. He hadn’t even bothered to clean his blade yet. Well. If he was going to just _stand_ there…

Ganondorf’s fingers twitched, closing around the glowing sword. Summoning the last of his strength, he lashed out, felt the soft resistance of rending flesh.

The Hero of Time made a strange, wet choking sound. Ruby red blossomed from his throat, staining the green tunic. The Master Sword slipped from his hand, stuck in the dirt with a soft thunk. As the world narrowed to a tunnel, the last thing Ganondorf saw was those clear blue eyes staring back at him, blue like a sapphire, blue like Hyrule’s pure waters, blue like the endless desert sky. There was no fear or sorrow in them, on the contrary, Link looked relieved. One last paroxysm of hatred seized him—how _dare_ he be glad to die? For a moment the sign of the Triforce flickered on his hand. But it was not enough. It had never been enough.

The light faded. The hero fell. Ganondorf never heard his body hit the ground.


	2. Leap of faith

High above the silent field, a massive island of pale, weathered stone streamed through the wispy clouds. The towers, frescoed walls, and colorful domed rooftops of a magnificent city emerged from the mist, glittering beneath the cold starlight.

The Goddess strode down the broad avenue that ran from the heart of the city to the island’s edge. Grandmother followed as closely as she could without treading on the skirts of her white silk gown. A crowd of the other Skyfolk trailed after them, colorful robes and fluttering shawls and nervous whispers.

There was no wall at the end of the street; the paving-stones ran right up to the edge. The people who once lived here hadn’t feared falling. They rode on the backs of giant birds and went anywhere they wished in the Heavens or on the Surface, or so the stories said. Only the Goddess knew for sure, and she was not inclined to dwell on the past, though it was filled with tales of her heroic deeds. She never forced the people to worship her.

These days, not all of the Skyfolk believed. Some speculated that the Goddess was no goddess at all, merely a woman wise beyond her years—a benevolent teacher and leader, skilled in magic, but no more. How anyone could think so, after standing in her presence, was beyond Grandmother. She didn’t radiate divine power in a grand and terrifying way, as the Golden Three or the dragon-gods of the mountains did. (Or so the stories said. Grandmother had never seen them, and did not wish to.) No, the Goddess had a more understated majesty. There was a stark, plain beauty in her features, the smooth-worn grace of one who has endured through trials and ages. Though her only ornamentation was a simple beaded circlet resting above her silver-blond bangs, she carried herself with a regal air to humble any queen.

The clouds below parted before her crystal blue gaze, at once gentle and severe. Grandmother looked up at her, her eyes asking the question none of them dared speak. The Goddess pursed her lips and shook her head. Low, mournful cries rippled through the crowd.

Behind them, the shadows stretched and deepened, pooling on the ground in a widening spiral. The air around them seemed to grow dim and heavy. Tendrils of black smoke rose from the spot, gradually taking on the shape of a gigantic, muscle-bound man. He was covered in reptilian scales from his wrists to his neck. In place of hair, a mane of fire wreathed his face.

Grandmother sucked in a sharp breath, grabbed the two nearest children—she didn’t know whose they were, and it didn’t matter—and dove into the nearest alley. They scrambled over a garden wall and huddled behind a sculpted hedge, shaking from head to foot.

“What’s happening?” one of the children quavered. “Is it the Evil One?”

Grandmother hushed him with a finger to his lips, offering a few trite words of comfort, but her heart was heavy with dread. _To think he can already assume that form, even here in the holy city… Gods help us!_

* * *

In contrast to her panicked children, the Goddess paid no heed to the intruder, even when he sidled up behind her and bent his head to whisper in her ear. She glowed like a lantern against his darkness.

“Victory is mine, Hylia,” he rasped in a voice like a roaring furnace.

“It is not finished,” she replied coolly.

His lips parted in a sneer, revealing rows of needle-like teeth. “Your holy land, destroyed. Your chosen people, scattered. Everything you love is mine, and you will—”

“Nothing you have laid claim to is truly yours,” she cut him off. “The earth remembers. The sky sees. And every mortal breath will yet repeat the song.”

The fire spilled from his head to cloak his body, expanded into a roaring inferno. “Deny it like a foolish child, then, but _you will kneel before me!_ ”

The goddess didn’t flinch. “Rage all you wish, Demise. As you are now, you know you cannot touch me.”

He moved as if to seize her arm, but his hand stopped inches from her skin. Her light glimmered through him, proving his form was not quite as solid as it seemed. The flames pouring off of him parted around her, repelled by some invisible barrier. They died down as quickly as they had risen, and he returned to smirking superiority.

“Already a third of your gods’ power is in my chosen one’s hands.”

“Your chosen one,” she repeated, in a carefully restrained monotone.

“He _is_ mine. You know it to be true, little goddess. Does it not make you envious? He is my creation, the greatest and best of them, and he has chosen me.”

“I wonder.”

“And that hero of yours? Does he serve you willingly, when you don’t manipulate him? Ah, but I forgot. You’ve never let him live a life free of his burden.”

Silence.

“Sooner or later, they will all come to me. I am the infinite, the great End.” Demise’s leering smile broadened. “The boy seems to hold some promise, after all. Perhaps I’ll add him to my collection next.”

This time Hylia’s eyes betrayed a glint of ire. “He is unbreakable. _You_ know that.” She jutted her chin toward the x-shaped scar on his forehead, noted with some satisfaction how his face tightened.

Demise leaned closer, and his voice dropped to a low growl, the sound of mountains cracking. “I can break anything.”

Another long pause. Something almost like mischief flickered across her face. “Even curses?”

The demon folded his arms and regraded her with a stony scowl.

“Here is a prophecy for the king of demons.” Hylia squared her shoulders and faced Demise at last. “Watch, and learn the true meaning of power. We will loose what you have bound and heal what you have wounded. _You will be undone._ ” Her dainty mouth bit off the words. “And as for your so-called chosen one… There will be a reckoning. He will face the mirror of truth and judgment, and we will grind his proud ambition to dust. Should he beg for mercy, the mercy we offer will be a sword. The history of light and shadow will be written in blood!”

His flames roared up again, filling the air with choking smoke and something far more toxic, slithering purple wisps of rarefied malice. This time she responded in kind, a thin, brilliant sphere of light repelling his onslaught. They regarded each other through the haze of crackling magic.

“Let them bleed, then,” he snarled. Abruptly, his form twisted in on itself and vanished.

* * *

Grandmother pressed her back into the garden wall and tried to make her breaths shallow until the sound of the evil one’s voice faded and the shadows returned to their natural state. After several more minutes passed with no sign of his return, she dared to peek over the top of the wall. The goddess was once again alone in the middle of the road. Slowly, still trembling from head to foot, Grandmother stood up. The rest of the Skyfolk began to emerge from hiding. She saw the children back to their parents, and did her best to calm the people, full of unanswerable questions as they were.

When she had finally convinced everyone to return to their homes, she looked back down the street. The Goddess still stood at the edge. She turned slightly as Grandmother approached, inviting her to stand at her side. For some time they looked out over the clouds in silence.

“Your Grace?” Grandmother whispered. Those brilliant blue eyes fell on her, darkened with infinite sadness, and she swallowed hard. “Is this truly the end of Hyrule?”

“That name, I fear, shall be lost to the winds of time,” the Goddess replied.

As if on cue, a wintry gust picked up, ruffling Grandmother’s kerchief. The Goddess closed her eyes, let it blow through her hair. Grandmother looked down, down through the clouds at the blighted land. Seeing her forlorn expression, the Goddess reached out and lifted her chin with a finger.

“Do you believe in me, Grandmother?”

No hesitation, even now. “Yes.”

The Goddess smiled. “We will go down to the forest,” she declared. “In the sacred grove where my temple once stood, we will seek a new beginning. When we are through, no one will remember that we or this world existed. But take heart, my child. Names may be lost, and histories too, but one thing remains.”

Grandmother stared at her, not quite comprehending.

“Courage,” said the Goddess. The moment the word left her lips, a thunderbolt pierced the clouds, brief and brilliant. A column of verdant light blossomed in its wake. Interlocking circles of magic unwound in its core, inscribed with glowing letters of a language older than time. The Goddess stepped off the ledge into the light, hovered there, turned and held out her hand.

It meant leaving everything she knew behind. It meant starting from nothing. Grandmother braced herself and leaped.

“And courage need not be remembered, for it is never forgotten.”


	3. Bait and switch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence (let's just assume that from here on, ok?), minor character death, electrocution, racism

In silence one finds wisdom, or so a wise man had once said. As a small child, Zelda had believed that one followed the other as surely as flowers followed the spring rains, that quiet composure was simply one of wisdom’s many gifts. Her recent interactions with her father, however, made her wonder if the silence of the wise was a matter of economy rather than patience. Sooner or later they grew tired of being ignored.

But no, she told herself, cynicism was cheap. It took courage to keep speaking the truth until someone heard, and courage was what they needed in these times. The golden sign of Courage on the back of Link’s hand was all he needed to make the king of Hyrule listen, after months of dismissing his own daughter.

It wasn’t that she resented Link. _He_ had believed her from the start. He had apparently been through quite an ordeal on her behalf, too, waking up in a strange body after seven years of magical slumber to find the world gone to pieces. Zelda had to admit that her plan had backfired in the most disastrous way imaginable. Fortunately, Link said, the Sacred Realm had some kind of fail-safe mechanism, a divine alarm signal that went out from the temples across the land, summoning a task force of sages with powerful elemental magic. (He was reluctant to say who they had been. Though it pricked her curiosity, she only made him promise to tell her if the safety of the kingdom ever depended on it.) Two parts of the Triforce had fled from Ganondorf. One had gone to Link, which he now carried with him as proof, the other, he said, belonged to her. She wondered.

Her future self had worked hard to rectify her mistake, he said—he called it “their” mistake, but she would own it. They had all fought together to free their land from the clutches of the evil king. Afterward, she had used the ocarina to rewind time for Link, giving him a chance to reclaim his lost childhood years. Giving Hyrule a chance to avoid the nightmare she had created. There was a haunted look in his eyes when he told the story, and she wondered if he was leaving some parts out. But those were his secrets to keep.

Perhaps the wise kept silent because they feared their own hubris. She glanced at the back of her hand. Nothing.

Her fingers brushed the stained glass windows that lined the tower, an exquisite jigsaw puzzle of heraldry and myth casting its colors on her view of the world beyond. The western skies were clear, but in her mind’s eye storm clouds loomed. She recalled the Gerudo king’s piercing gaze, and shuddered.

Their plan was in motion. Once again, all she could do was wait.

* * *

Sedge tugged his hood down in a useless effort to shield his eyes from another swirling cloud of dust. No matter which way he turned, it seemed to find its way in, as if the wind itself sought to remind him that he didn’t belong here.

Pausing in the shadow of a rocky overhang, he moistened his throat with a swig from his canteen. He chased it with a few drops of vivid indigo liquid from a vial clipped to his belt, then slathered more of it over his fins and face. A product of nearly-lost Sheikah herbal lore, the elixir was the only way a young Zora stood any chance of surviving the trip through Castor Wilds. Even so, he had accepted the mission without hesitation. It was a great honor to be so trusted by Princess Ruto.

Planting his hands on his knees, he levered himself to his feet and resumed the slow, laborious climb up the canyon. The trail, such as there was one, was covered in sand and loose gravel, and his feet slid out from under him more than once. Every breath burned. His eyes were sandpaper, and his skin was beginning to crack in spite of the elixir. At long last, he spotted a black and gold banner fluttering from a ledge overhead. The trail turned and made a slow zigzag up the hillside, but impatience propelled Sedge straight up the rocks instead. By the time he realized it was a mistake, it was too late to go back. He was cursing and shaking when he finally hauled his body over the ledge.

He found himself in the middle of a small portable town. A half-circle of tents nestled into a sandy depression about ten fathoms wide, their canvas walls dyed with a pattern that made them indistinguishable from boulders at a distance. Up close, however, each was an exquisite work of art, interlocking patterns of snakes and clouds and swirling calligraphy. A dozen or so wooden stools, a few brightly colored carpets, and a half-woven basket were strewn around a cast iron cook pot. The fire was out at the moment, but looked like it might have been burning a short time ago. Straight ahead was what seemed to be a supply tent. Through the open door he saw a mostly-empty weapon rack and several clay water jugs, each larger than him. He swallowed dust and thick saliva, dreaming of cool, clear water. Maybe they would give him a drink. Royal messengers were supposed to be treated courteously.

Moments later, he felt something sharp pressed to his back. Before he knew what was happening, seven armored warriors surrounded him, all women, brandishing a variety of spears and scimitars. He guessed they were some kind of honor guard, judging by their matching black and gold shawls. They moved with impossible grace, red hair dancing like flames in the wind. He grimaced, less in fear than mortification at his own carelessness. Where had they been hiding?

The guard who had him at spear-point yanked back his hood, then let out a surprised huff.

“It’s a Zora!”

“A kid, no less,” someone behind him half-laughed in disbelief.

“The phrase ‘fish out of water’ comes to mind.”

Sedge bit his tongue and reminded himself that they probably didn’t know “fish” was Zora slang for a coward or weakling. He _ate_ fish.

The shortest of the guards, who he guessed was not much older than him, bent down to look at him with wide, curious amber eyes. “What are you doing way out here?”

Sedge drew himself up, clearing his scratchy throat. “I serve the Zora royal family. We seek an audience with the elders.”

Indignant snorts and muffled snickering. The woman behind him—probably their leader, since her shawl had a fancy turquoise fringe and the others were quick to get out of her way—came around to size him up with a cynical frown.

“So, the Wise Ones dragged us all out here to Mother-forsaken nowhere to meet a skinny _fish_ boy?” she hissed. Sedge was beginning to suspect she did know what it meant. She lifted his chin with the point of her spear. “I propose an alternate explanation. You’re a troublemaker who wandered up from the valley and got lost. You saw our camp and thought you’d help yourself to some of our water. I saw you eyeing it. Fish boy.”

“That’s pretty harsh, Teake,” said the young guard. “Even you don’t know why we’re here.”

“Little sister, when I want your opinion I’ll give it to you.”

The shorter woman pressed her lips together and looked away. Sedge noted several of the others giving her dirty looks. Though he knew Gerudo women often addressed each other as “sister,” a strong resemblance between the pair led him to think they were literal siblings.

Teake hadn’t taken her eyes off him. “That does make me wonder, though. How are you not dead?”

Sedge nodded toward his belt, as much as he could with a blade at his throat. Another guard lifted his cloak to inspect the vials.

“Sheikah elixirs. Seven or eight of ‘em!”

Teake’s eyebrows shot up. “Those things easily go for a couple golds in the market.” When Sedge tensed, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, relax. We’re not going to steal them. What, you think the Gerudo are nothing but petty thieves?”

“Maybe _he’s_ a thief.”

“Wonder if he’s got a bounty on his head.”

“I am no such thing!” Sedge protested. “I come bearing an urgent message regarding a matter of interest to the Great Lord Ganondorf.”

This time their laughter was unrestrained. Teake lowered her spear and shoved him toward the cliff. “Get out of here, kid.”

Another woman winked at him. “We won’t tell anybody we saw ya.”

Sedge’s fist clenched in anger. After coming all this way, risking life and limb, they were going to turn him away at the door. But what could he do? The guards’ amusement had faded, and their stares were beginning to turn hostile. He should leave. He couldn’t leave. Going home and telling Princess Ruto he’d failed would be worse than anything they could do to him. Probably.

“Bring him in.”

The voice came from the largest tent, in the center of the village. Above the door was the black banner he’d spotted earlier. Exchanging wide-eyed glances, the guards formed a ring around Sedge and led him inside.

Flickering torches in serpentine brass stands illuminated the room; curiously, their flame produced no smoke. A plush red carpet covered most of the floor. At the far end, a pair of ancient women sat cross-legged on silk cushions, hands tucked into the long sleeves of their black and white robes. They were mirror images of one another, right down to the warts on their noses. One wore a massive red jewel on her forehead, the other, blue.

Sedge started to kneel, though apparently not fast enough, because Teake gripped his shoulder and forced him down. The blue sorceress dismissed the guards with a gesture.

“You’ve come a long way, young one,” she said in a voice like creaking bones. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

“Heh. Of course he didn’t,” her twin scoffed. She bent forward, leathery lips parting in an unsettling grin. “You know, boy, there would be plenty of water here for you, if not for the Hylians.”

“He’s too young to know anything about that,” said the first with a dismissive wave. “Oh, but how rude of us. We ought to introduce ourselves, Koume.”

“Quite right, Kotake.”

The pair looked at each other and shrugged.

“Well now, I suppose we’ve done it.”

Sedge tried not to quiver. Koume and Kotake, the legendary “Twinrova.” Ganondorf’s mothers. Rarely seen but universally feared, the pair were the subject of more rumors than could possibly be true. He doubted that they were really four hundred years old, or that they could read a person’s mind just by looking at them, or that they were actually ravishing beauties who disguised themselves as crones. But on one point all the rumors agreed: they were deadly when crossed. Their beady eyes fixed on Sedge. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to rise, decided not to chance it.

“Speak, child,” Koume barked.

Swallowing the last shred of his pride, he lowered his head. “I am Seggin, a messenger of the Zora royal family. I come in the name of Princess Ruto Do Bon, seeking to parley with the great Ganondorf, lord of the Gerudo.”

Kotake’s brow furrowed in an almost-convincing imitation of concern. “Parley? Is there some trouble?”

“We are asking for your protection. About three months ago, shortly after Lord Ganondorf visited Zora’s Domain, the guardian deity of our fountain fell gravely ill. The cause was discovered to be a parasite. This surprised us, as Lord Jabu-Jabu normally has remarkable immunity—indeed, his presence helps to purify the water.” Sedge took a deep breath and dared to meet their eyes for the briefest moment, the dance of deception’s opening steps. “Further investigation revealed something far more troubling. The creature had been enhanced with dark magic. Someone did this intentionally.”

Koume blew a sharp breath out her nose. “Are you suggesting that our king had something to do with your guardian’s unfortunate affliction?”

“Far be it from me to insinuate such a thing,” Sedge replied in a rush. “But… it has become clear to our princess that the Hylian king cannot or will not protect us. Her father is too proud to ask for help, but she is willing to do what he will not to save our people. She requests Lord Ganondorf’s aid in ensuring that such a thing never happens again.”

“And what might she have to offer in return?”

They all knew there was only one acceptable answer. To his credit, Sedge kept his voice even. “The Spiritual Stone of Water.”

Their faces split open like overripe melons. Kotake crooked a finger, and suddenly the floor was a sheet of ice. In the same moment a gust of frosty wind hit him in the back, launching him toward the witches. They moved faster than he’d imagined they could, lifting his cloak, checking his sleeves and belt pouch.

“Where is it?”

“Come now, let’s see!”

Koume tried to peek under the fins on his head. He pulled away, rigid with indignation.

“You will forgive us, I hope, for not sending the Sapphire with a lone messenger on such a treacherous journey, without knowing how our offer would be received.” Princess Zelda had given him that line, worded to avoid outright accusations. His own princess would have been… a bit more direct.

“I see.” Kotake settled back into her seat, and after casting a long glare at Sedge, so did her twin.

They said no more for a while, only stroked their chins and held a silent conversation with their eyes. The low crackle of the torches was suddenly deafening. He wondered if they would ask him why the Zora, faithful servants of the king of Hyrule, would go behind his back to make a bargain with another monarch—as they doubtless were, asking to meet in an inhospitable place far out of reach of the gossip stone network. To this he would reply that the Zora did not need the Hylians’ permission to protect themselves. He wondered if they would ask him to speculate on the reason Ganondorf wanted the stone. Here he would feign ignorance, saying only that the king of the Gerudo must be a fancier of ancient relics and that, although it would pain them to part with the Zora queens’ traditional “engagement ring,” it was a small price to pay for their people’s safety; it was, after all, only a pretty bauble. (And if one of them dared to joke that Ganondorf might consider keeping that tradition alive, he would try his hardest not to punch them in the face.)

But they asked none of these things. After letting him sweat for several minutes, Koume cleared her throat.

“Your terms?”

Sedge produced a folded sheet of parchment, offering it to them with both hands. “If the great Ganondorf finds our offer acceptable, we ask that he meet us at this location on the fourth day after the new Forest Moon.”

Koume took the map but didn’t unfold it. “Very well. He will send an envoy.”

“Begging your pardon, excellencies. In regard for how unique and valuable the Sapphire is to us, we would much prefer to put it in his hands ourselves.”

Kotake’s nose wrinkled. “Our king has a kingdom to rule. You cannot expect him to run petty errands.”

_You’ve done well enough without him these past_ _seven_ _months_ , thought Sedge, but he only replied, “These are our terms.”

Koume stared him down with a sour pout. She wouldn’t get him to budge on this point and she knew it. It was only out of spite that she pretended to reconsider. At length she said, “Your princess will bring the stone herself.”

Sedge’s mouth twitched slightly. The Hylians had warned him against agreeing to anything that would visibly involve the Zora royalty, but Princess Ruto herself had told him to concede the point if necessary to make the deal. _I’m not afraid of Ganondorf_ , she’d said. _In fact, I’d kind of like to be there to see the look on his face._

When Koume didn’t back down, he bowed low again. “As you wish.”

She inspected the map, exchanged a brisk nod with her twin, then snapped her fingers. It dissolved in a flash of fire.

“Done.”

* * *

Koume watched the Zora boy disappear down the winding trail with a small frown. They had filled his canteens and replaced his cloak with a better one, and for this his gratitude was clearly genuine. Bani, eager to prove herself and more eager still to ask a million invasive questions about the Zora and their land to the east, had offered to escort him back down the canyon. Koume suspected that Teake had agreed to it mostly to be rid of her little sister for a while.

“Forest Moon,” she muttered. “Ruled by Farore and Nayru. An inauspicious day for the daughters of sand and fire.”

Beside her, Kotake pursed her lips. “You know what this means? That wizard was telling the truth.”

“Truth,” said Koume, “can be bent into all sorts of useful shapes.”

They were silent for a long time, watching the setting sun. Bani returned, practically skipping.

“Get some rest, daughter,” Kotake told her. “We leave at dawn.”

After the young woman disappeared into her tent, the sorceresses looked at each other.

“I think we should leave tonight,” said Koume.

Kotake frowned, hesitating. “They’ve all been loyal sisters. Is this really—”

“Now is not the time for weakness! You want our son to die? We have to, Kotake. It’s _His will._ ”

“I know. I know...” Kotake closed her eyes, let out a long, rough breath. Opened them again. “There’s no other way.”

She stirred the dust with one long fingernail. Frost sprouted from the ground at her touch, raced along the ground between the tents and up the canyon walls, crept between the rocks. The groaning and cracking of boulders echoed through the valley. Koume heard a few puzzled murmurs from inside the tents, and smiled grimly. Poor souls. At least it would be quick. She stifled the tiny spark of pity that sprang up. This was how it had to be. There was no other way.

A massive chunk broke loose from the cliff, crushing the tents. If the guards screamed, she didn’t hear them. More rocks followed in a deafening shower, burying the whole village until there was no sign this place had ever been inhabited. And Koume laughed, a shrill, raucous laugh that held no joy.

Before the dust settled, Twinrova jumped onto their brooms and sped off into the moonlit sky without looking back.

* * *

The soft blue light of the Zora’s Sapphire glistened on the dewy grass of the clearing. Ruto curled her toes, refusing to shiver in spite of the cold wind. (It _was_ the wind, of course. She wasn’t nervous at all.) She cupped her hands around the stone and mouthed a promise to her people, to herself. _I won’t mess this up._ The river at her back whispered a soothing song. If she squinted, she could make out a line of dark shapes descending from the hills. The Gerudo were allowing themselves to be seen. Maybe that was a good sign.

Two senior knights flanked her, and Sedge stood a few paces behind. He had insisted on being there, and she would hardly deny him after the risk he’d taken on her behalf. She resisted the impulse to glance back at the line of rushes where Link and the Hylians were waiting. Out of all of them, it was the boy in green who made her feel safe.

As safe as one could feel, anyway, when they were face to face with Ganondorf.

To her surprise, he dismounted and crossed the meadow on foot, mud squelching beneath his massive boots. Rather than his usual short cape he wore a full cloak, and a red scarf wound around the lower half of his face. He must be cold too.

His entourage drew to a halt. The sun had yet to emerge from behind the mountains; the lights of Castle Town twinkled on the eastern horizon. His face was still hidden, but Ruto’s imagination painted a wicked leer behind the scarlet cloth. She clutched the stone tighter. A woman in long white robes, presumably his herald, stepped forward, and one of the Zora knights went out to meet her. A labored exchange of formal greetings followed, which Ruto barely heard.

The herald cleared her throat. “The great Ganondorf will now receive the Zora’s tribute.”

Steeling herself, Ruto walked toward him, cradling the Sapphire in her palms. Ten paces, twenty. No more. Now she could see the outline of Ganondorf’s mouth in the light of their torches. His displeasure was plain—he must feel each step away from the desert cliffs as keenly as she felt each one from the water—but he came forward to meet her. How much did he suspect? She heard the creak of his jet-black leather armor, the low rattle of Sedge and the knights gripping their weapons tighter. Then she saw herself reflected in his golden eyes, and heard only the thud of her own heart. He reached for the stone.

“Hyaaah!”

Link came flying out of nowhere and hit Ganondorf in the knees, making him stumble. Before he could recover, one of the Zora knights knocked his feet out from under him with a sweeping kick. They pinned his head to the ground between their crossed spears. The herald charged, scimitar drawn. There was a grunt, then the loud clang-clang of blades meeting. Her weapon went flying across the grass. She had time to blink once before Link struck her in the back of the head, knocking her unconscious. At the same moment, a hail of arrows loosed from the bushes forced the rest of the Gerudo soldiers back. With a shout that Ruto thought surprisingly high-pitched, Ganondorf seized a pole in each hand and flipped the knights head over heels. One managed to keep hold of her weapon. The other went sprawling face-down. Ganondorf caught the spear and moved to impale him with it, but the distraction had bought the Hylian soldiers enough time to rush in from their hiding place, cutting between the Gerudo and their king.

As their forces collided, Sedge caught Ruto by the arm and led her back toward the safety of the river. Looking back over her shoulder, she was alarmed to see that a trio of Gerudo soldiers had Link surrounded. But her worries were premature; moments later a bubble of Din’s Fire knocked them back.

Ganondorf, meanwhile, had turned the spear on the Hylians, whirling and jabbing too fast for her to follow. A gray-bearded man thought he saw an opening and made a bold charge. Ganondorf stabbed him in the side. Anguished cries went up among the Hylian troops as the fallen man—their leader, she realized—tumbled down the hill. The rest of the squad collapsed like an anemone retreating into the rocks. Ruto tried to turn back, with the irrational thought that she could help somehow, but Sedge pulled her harder toward the water.

“ _Princess_ ,” he said urgently. She understood, and followed.

The Hylians outnumbered the Gerudo three to one. Ganondorf turned, shouting something to the leader of his soldiers in their language. She looked taken aback. He repeated the order, flinging his arm in the general direction of the hills. After a moment’s hesitation, she passed the command to her women, who seemed as astonished as she did—but not half as much as Ruto, when they all mounted their horses and retreated.

The Zora knights charged back into the fray, fins flashing silver, swift and graceful as dancers. But grace did not win battles. Ganondorf’s stolen weapon broke against one of the soldiers’ shields. He tossed it aside and pounded his fist into the ground with a mighty bellow. The earth buckled, sending weapons, shields, and people flying in every direction. He whipped out a pair of curved swords and charged, batting down the handful that managed to stand back up like annoying insects. He was coming straight for Ruto. Clutching the stone to her chest, she plunged into the river.

At first, her only thought was to put as much distance as possible between them. She turned into the current, praying he wasn’t a strong swimmer. An ominous vibration made her glance back, the creak of a bow, a crackle and hiss. Through the rippling veil above she caught a pulsing yellow light.

_Shock arrow._

Panic gripped her.Before she could react, Sedge went shooting past her. He leaped out of the water with arms spread wide.

“No!” she screamed, lunging after him. From above she heard the impact, then the awful jittering sound. When she broke the surface he was lying on the bank, the arrow embedded in his shoulder, sparks crawling over him like a hundred glowing eels. She scrambled through mud and loose gravel, heedless of the danger.

Ganondorf huffed in annoyance and started to draw again, but Link threw himself between them and the thief lord. More shouts, and the metallic ring of swords meeting. Ruto cradled Sedge’s head to her chest, shaking with terror and grief. She knew on some level that her soldiers were sworn to protect her, but this… he had used his body as a shield.

“Wake up. Come on, please wake up,” she pleaded, though she knew he was dead. He had to be. She grabbed him under the arms and dragged him away from the fight, casting one wild-eyed glance back at Link. Her foot slipped. They tumbled into the sand.

To her amazement, Sedge moaned and opened one eye. For a second she could only gape at him.

“Are you all right… Princess?”

Ruto sucked in a deep breath. “You idiot!”

There was no time to properly chastise him, though, with her other friend still locked in a deadly battle. Link was holding his own, fending off his opponent’s attacks with a Hylian shield. (It looked to have been modified, but she was still amazed he could lift it.) Ganondorf bore down on him in a cyclone of rage, but he couldn’t land a blow on Link—ten year old, never formally trained, raised-in-the-woods Link. Maybe Zelda wasn’t crazy to think he was some kind of chosen one.

Link deflected one blade, did a flip to avoid the other, and landed on Ganondorf’s arm. Ganondorf tried to shake him off, but Link clawed his way up onto his shoulders with all the ungainly agility of a monkey and put him in a choke-hold. Ganondorf flailed for a few seconds, but finally pried the boy off and slammed him into the ground. Ruto cringed, nails digging into her hands.

A shadow hissed between the two combatants. The blades of Ganondorf’s swords fell off, severed inches from the hilt.

Ruto let out a shuddering sigh. “About time, Impa.”

After a moment of confusion, Ganondorf threw his now-useless weapons aside and tried to ready another spell, but it was too late. Impa struck him in the gut, kicked him from behind so that he fell onto his knees, and followed with a vicious elbow between his shoulderblades. Then Link’s sword was at his neck, and Impa was clapping silencer cuffs around his wrists, and it was over.

After a minute or so, Sedge managed to get to his feet. Link was staring intently at their captive, a deepening frown on his face. After a moment he said something to Impa that she didn’t catch. The handful of soldiers who could stand gathered around. In the quiet after the battle, she could hear trilling frogs and the low moans of the wounded. At least that meant some of them were still alive.

_O_ _ne death_ _is_ _too many_ , she thought as Impa unwound the cloth from Ganondorf’s face. Her anger faltered, swept away by dumb shock.

It wasn’t Ganondorf.

The woman’s long red hair spilled over her face as she looked up at them. She was panting, drenched with sweat and covered in grime, none of which did anything to dampen the blazing hatred in her eyes.

“He was right,” she said, voice rough with bitterness. “Of course he was right.”

“Who are you?” Impa demanded.

The woman shot to her feet, somehow managing to look imposing in spite of having her hands tied behind her back. “I am Parapa! Remember that name, you treacherous dogs! My king will not let this go unpunished!”

* * *

Impa and the vice-commander took about half the troops and marched their prisoner back to Castle Town. The rest stayed to tend to their injured comrades. Sedge patched up his own wound and then hovered around trying to help, ignoring Ruto’s scolding. She could pull rank and command him to lie down. But no, she had a better idea.

“Sedge, do we have any Mermaid’s Whiskers?”

“The plant?”

“Yes. It’s excellent for binding wounds. Healers swear by it. Since you are determined to ignore my advice to rest, make yourself useful and go get some.”

He made a gallant bow, as if she’d just given him command of a legion instead of sending him off to hunt river weeds. “Of course.”

“And don’t go splashing around like a fool! It’s very delicate.”

“While you’re down there, think you could catch us some fish for dinner?” added Link, having overheard their exchange. “We don’t have any poles though… can you manage?”

“We Zora catch fish with our bare hands all the time,” Sedge informed him, puffing up a little.

_Good one_ , thought Ruto. _That’ll make him sit still._

Sedge ambled down to the water, and Link went back to digging in his pack for red potions. (She wondered for the umpteenth time how he could even move, carrying all that stuff.)

“Thanks.”

“I’m glad he’s all right.”

“He’s lucky.” Ruto shot an exasperated look toward the river.

Link paused in his rummaging. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “For all of this. But don’t worry. I won’t rest until we catch Ganondorf.” Maybe it was the early dawn shadows playing tricks, but in that moment he seemed much older.

“Stop that,” she ordered, crossing her arms. He blinked, flabbergasted. “You can’t take the blame for everything. It was Zelda’s idea, anyway.”

His reply was quick and sharp, a reflex. “Zelda didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Well, neither did you, or anybody, so quit acting like a martyr!”

He was quiet for a minute, biting the inside of his cheek. In spite of everything, it was slightly adorable.

“You’re right. Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Stop apologizing. Now give me those,” she said, taking the potions from his hands, “because I’ve got another job for you. We need to get back to the city, and some of us won’t be able to walk. You’re fast, right? I know you are so don’t try to be modest. Run on down to Groslan Ford and see if one of the farmers has a cart we can borrow.”

He saluted and sprang into action, all youthful eagerness again. He and Sedge were alike that way, she realized, watching the two wave at each other as Link passed on his way down the road. Restless until they had a mission.

“Heroes,” she muttered. “They’re so high maintenance.”

* * *

Early the next afternoon they led Parapa into the throne room, wrists and ankles bound, flanked by knights in front and behind. Four neat columns of elite royal guards surrounded them, with a pair of mage-wardens bringing up the rear. More stood guard at every exit. Crossbowmen lined the balconies above. To the casual observer it might seem over the top, but Link was glad they weren’t taking any chances.

Without the bulk of her borrowed armor, Parapa was slender, willowy even—but Link of all people knew better than to equate size with strength. He thought about her tossing the Zora knights aside like flour sacks, the whirling blur of her spear holding off a full squad of their soldiers… suddenly he wondered if their security was tight enough. Luckily, the more powerful magic she had unleashed against them came from single-use talismans. Unless she managed to sneak one past Impa, which was about as likely as a cold day in Goron City, the enchanted shackles would easily suppress any spell she attempted on her own.

(Ganondorf with the Triforce of Power would have shredded them like wet paper. But that would never happen now.)

The gallery to the left of the throne was full of long-eared old men in fancy robes. Link could name a handful: Grand Marshal Owlan, fair-haired and severe, Chancellor Potho, short and bespectacled with more mustache than hair, Minister Herald Chirila in his highly fashionable coat. Judging by the looks they gave Parapa, they were already planning her execution. Zelda sat at her father’s right hand, Impa hovering over her like a mother eagle guarding her chick.

The chancellor struck the floor with a wooden staff, sending a ringing echo through the chamber. “Parapa of the Mandrag Gerudo,” he intoned, warbling and nasally. “You stand accused of high treason and conspiracy. Have you anything to say in your defense?”

“I will not give you the satisfaction of begging for mercy.” Parapa’s voice was honeyed venom. “My people know exactly how much compassion you have for us.”

One of the knights clamped down on her shoulder. “You’ll show respect in the presence of our king, you desert witch!”

Parapa’s lip curled. “If only I were a witch, I’d teach _you_ some respect.”

He raised his gauntlet to strike her, and her face tightened in a way Link knew well, stoic pride bracing to stifle any outward sign of pain. But the king lifted a hand, halting the soldier in his tracks. As always he kept an air of stately dignity; only a deepening crease in his forehead betrayed his agitation. Across the room, Zelda let out the breath she’d been holding.

“Assemble a tribunal,” said the king, looking at Parapa but addressing his councilors. “We will conduct her trial in three weeks’ time. Until then, find out exactly how much she knew about that stone and her wayward lord’s plan. If she will cooperate with us in locating him, perhaps we shall show her some leniency.”

“Never,” Parapa spat.

He seemed about to speak, changed his mind and set his jaw. “Take her away.”

Parapa did not struggle or protest, only cast a burning glance back at him as they led her off to the dungeons.

The king turned to Owlan with a stiff nod. “I want the order given to every knight in Hyrule. Hunt Ganondorf down, and bring him to justice.”

From across the room, Zelda met Link’s eyes with a look of gratitude and somber satisfaction. In spite of this latest hitch in their plans, she believed they were on the right path this time. He had made a difference.

Sometimes she looked at him like he was the genius, as if it were intuition and not bitter experience that had shown him the consequences of opening the Sacred Realm. She would say that didn’t matter, that experience was after all a better teacher. She had not lived through it.

But he knew at this moment there was another Zelda on the other side of time clinging to Impa’s back as their horse careened out of Castle Town, turning as she passed, eyes locking with his for a moment and a lifetime. The ocarina splashing into the river. All of her faith and the destiny of the world in his hands. How could he have thought, as a child, that he was ready for such a responsibility? Zelda talked of her foolish pride, but she wasn’t the one who had tried to lift the sword. Then at the end of it all she took it back from him, the burden and the blame and the pride and the future, did all she could to let him start over while she remained, alone in her shattered kingdom. He carried the scars of their mistake. Zelda carried the world.

The Zelda before him now, still bright and full of faith, didn’t understand the gift she had been given, or what it had cost. And she never would.

He would never tell her.


End file.
